Helpless
by Mebrireth
Summary: A vignette based on the moment where Voldemort finally possesses Harry's body, and Dumbledore can only sit and watch...


Hello everyone. This is a small vignette I've been planning on writing for a while. It's a mixture of movie and book-verse, so it's not entirely original, but I think it's a powerful moment and I wanted to flesh it out a little bit. Enjoy.

_Helpless_

"Stay where you are Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. Voldemort had just disappeared after the fierce battle, but that was not his biggest concern at the moment. It was the fact that Dumbledore, the one wizard who was always so calm and in control no matter what was happening, sounded frightened.

Harry looked around wildly, as Dumbledore surveyed the room. There was nothing there, nothing but Harry, Dumbledore, and a whimpering Bellatrix still trapped beneath the statue.

And then Harry felt his scar explode.

He choked, he wanted to cry out in pain but could not. The white hot pain that seared his forehead and seemed to race down through his whole body had paralyzed him.

Harry collapsed.

Dumbledore turned, but slowly, much too slowly. His gaze landed on Harry, and his heart seemed to stop. His worst fear, the one thing he been dreading all year long, had just come true.

The old wizard had seen the shadow of Voldemort lurking behind the boy's eyes all year, the main reason he had distanced his own self. He had hoped Voldemort would leave him be, would perhaps think that Harry was not as important as he truly was. But all that had been for naught. Now Harry's eyes were distorted; dark, angry, and full of pain.

Harry was now writhing on the floor, he was no longer paralyzed, but this was the only movement he could manage. His body was trapped in the coils of a huge demon with angry red eyes, and that demon's only purpose was to bring fire and pain throughout Harry's entire body.

"Harry," Dumbledore said. He was kneeling next to the boy now, his hands out and searching for something he could do, some spell he could conjur, but there was nothing. He did not know what to do. In all his long years, with all the enemies he had faced and defeated, with the huge arsenal of tricks he had developed, Dumbledore could now only sit and watch.

"Harry," Dumbledore said again, "Harry fight it."

Harry could not even breathe properly, but he felt his jaw crack open. "Kill me now Dumbledore," his voice said. Harry meant what was said, but it was not him who said it. Harry wanted to die to stop this agony, surely nobody could live through this sort of pain, but Harry had not said it. Though it was his voice, it was high and mocking.

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy," his voice, not his voice, said again. Voldemort, the dark wizard inside Harry's own body, was taunting Dumbledore.

Dumbledore felt his stomach sink, it was a sensation he was quite unfamiliar with. Voldemort was right, death truly was nothing, but it was to Dumbledore that it was nothing. Not Harry, not the boy's death. Harry was the one person who could not die, Harry's life was the one thing Dumbledore's own life, and so many others, had become about.

And now Dumbledore was watching him die, anyway. And there was nothing he could do.

Harry moaned and his back arched. It was too much, he would not be able to bear this much longer. Images flashed through his mind at a frantic pace, his friends, his loved ones, the ones that were no longer with him. And throughout it all there was a keening laugh as Voldemort's hold tightened.

Harry wanted Dumbledore to kill him, he did not care anymore. Sirius was dead now, anyway. At least now he might be able to rejoin Sirius, and his parents.

Voldemort's grip slipped, the pain lessened.

Dumbledore saw the shift in Harry's eyes, saw a flicker of Harry's own self try to reclaim his body. Harry had not given up just yet. Dumbledore reached out and smoothed a hand over the boy's feverish head. He kept his touch on the boy, willing the comfort to help him. "It's not how you are alike," he whispered, "it's how you are different."

The words filtered down slowly to Harry's consciousness. He began to hold onto the images of his friends and his family fiercely. The laughter had stopped, and Harry could feel the coils beginning to loosen. Now the pain was being transferred to Voldemort. It was the vestiges of the same love that had defeated him when he had tried to kill Harry Potter the very first time. Voldemort could not stand it.

Harry felt a great wrench in his body, as if a large stake had been pulled out from his very core. Harry lay gasping, his glasses gone, his body now cold as ice.

And Voldemort stood over him, a mixture of loathing and twisted admiration on his snakelike face. "You will lose everything, Harry Potter," he said.

Harry could only stare up at him, feeling had not yet returned to his body and he felt for sure that Voldemort was finally going to deal a death blow.

But Voldemort became distracted and was suddenly gone from Harry's vision. Harry heard shocked voices and the movement of people suddenly filling the hall, but he did not care. Now Dumbledore moved into his line of sight, and his strong hands were pulling on Harry's shoulders, pulling him into an upright sitting position.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry could not even answer. He grabbed his glasses and put them on, his vision still blurred even with them.

More people were filling the hall, and Dumbledore turned to address them. Harry felt a slight moment of panic. He did not want to be alone, he did not want to be by himself right now.

Dumbledore was talking to them, his voice stern and confident again, even angry. The sound made Harry feel a little better, if Dumbledore was no longer frightened than the danger must truly be gone.

Now that Harry was starting to feel again and could focus his eyes, he felt the old twinges of anger pulling at him. Dumbledore was still ignoring him. He had just sat by Harry and watched him almost die, but it was still not enough for Dumbledore to care.

And with the return of anger came the sweeping sense of guilt and remorse. Sirius was dead, Sirius was dead because of Harry…

Just as Harry began to feel again that death would have been better, Dumbledore was turning towards him. He met Harry's gaze directly, and there was a kindness in them that Harry had not seen in a while. The old wizard has handing Harry the broken head of the statue.

"Wait for me, Harry," he was saying, "I will be no more than a half hour."

Before Harry could comprehend fully what that meant, he reached out and touched the stone head. He felt the great pull at his navel, and then was met with rushing darkness.


End file.
